“Surrendering to the Flow” by Caroline Rothstein

Essay

Set I: For the past 20 years, whenever I hear Phish’s “Wading in the Velvet Sea”—whether live or listening on my own—I am immediately brought back to August 15, 2004, when Phish—an American rock band with a maniacal following, of which I am a part—played a weekend festival in Coventry, Vermont. It was supposed to be their last show of all time having announced their break-up that May (spoiler alert: they got back together in 2009 and have been raging since). But this summer Sunday in 2004, when we still think we are at the end of our journey, after the first song of the second of three sets, keyboardist Page McConnell begins the opening chords of “Wading in a...

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“Surviving Survival” by Caroline Rothstein

Essay

I have been thinking about anti-carceral feminism. About how I am a survivor of multiple accounts of sexual assault. About how I am a Jew. How in these two seemingly unrelated things, they are still interconnected, not only because both things are happening within my same body, but because both involve and include an experience of being fractured and disembodied. So I have been thinking—especially of late—about this anti-carceral approach to accountability. As a survivor of sexual assault, my body has been many times disembodied without my consent. As a Jew—even before I was born—my body was set to inherit from generation to generation—l’dor v’dor—a plethora of disembodiment also without my consent, since anti-Jewish oppression and anti-Jewish antisemitism, like any...

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“Both/And” by Caroline Rothstein

Essay

Let’s start by getting this out of the way: I have never identified as a Zionist. Nor do I identify as an anti-Zionist. I suppose you could call me a non-Zionist, but really I find that unnecessary—to center my Jewishness around Zionism at all. Because really, I am just a Jew. Better yet, a Hebrew. Since Jew is a particular kind of Jew descended from the Tribe of Judah, and it is the Hebrews, really, where our story as ancient Israelites begins. Hebrew—ivri, one who crosses over or passes through. A nomad. In the in between. A participant in the both/and. Because really—more than anything—that’s what I feel my birthright to be: liminality. One whose rituals deal with the liminality...

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